


Songs in the Dark

by leoandlancer



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Actually trapped in a cave, Angst and Fluff, Bilbo's terrified, Claustrophobia, Everybody Lives, Hobbit Courting, M/M, Morons in love, Nobody is Dead, Pining, Post-Movie(s), Thorin's very sweet, Trapped In A Closet, angst and fluff and a happy ending, because to hell with that there's romance to be had
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-08-31 01:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8558287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leoandlancer/pseuds/leoandlancer
Summary: After the resolution of the Battle of Five Armies and the beginning of the restoration of Erebor, Thorin and Bilbo are still carefully, and respectfully, distant to each other. Each certain the other wants nothing to do with them after the betrayals they've committed. However, trapped by a cave-in while exploring the lower halls, Thorin and Bilbo are suddenly, and unavoidably thrown together and slowly they begin to sort things out.(Little thing about their mutual pining and guilt about BotFA. Happy endings and resolutions for everyone involved.)





	1. Chapter 1

In his time with Thorin’s company, Bilbo had, on occasion, been struck with some cultural differences between Hobbits and Dwarves. Most pressing at the moment; the differences between Hobbit semials and Dwarvish tunnels. This crucial difference wasn't something he'd fully appreciated until now. Until he was standing under a mountain, before an enormous statue of an ancient Dwarvish hero, several levels down from Erebor's great hall, surrounded by Dwarfs who seemed perfectly at ease.

Bilbo wiped cold sweat off the back of his neck. He tried to listen to Balin explaining the statue to the younger members of the Company. His mind kept wandering to the sheer _weight_ of rock that was over his head. Of the huge distance between him and sunlight. Trying to figure out how much time they could breath down here before the air turned foul and choked them.

He blinked slowly, feeling his own breath in his chest, his own heart beat. He found himself looking up, looking for light or a way out, and abruptly tipped his head away from the tunnel's beautifully carved ceiling.

And the entire _mountain_ above that.

The ancient dwarfs were incredible and also _completely insane_ to have built their cities under mountains instead of on top of them. How, Bilbo wondered, blinking at the back of Ori's coat as he fought to keep his breath even, how did they miss that obvious solution to their housing needs. How did they decide that hollowing out a mountain would be easier than _literally anything else_.

“Alright?” Bofur tipped his elbow gently against Bilbo's. “Only, y’look a bit pale.”

"Fine,” Bilbo lied, wiping another drop of cold sweat off his cheek. “Balin's tales are ah, moving.”

Bofur snorted, managing to convey appreciation for Bilbo's humour, mild suspicion and friendly concern all in one brief exhale.

Bilbo nodded absently, his head already full of the thought of weight and _darkness_ and _suffocation_ and _that ceiling is going to come down on us any moment we're going to die down here_. His knees felt weak. The chill that had just settled on the back of his neck was creeping around his shoulders and down his chest. Tiny points of light were beginning to float through his line of sight. No one else seemed to have noticed that they were standing on the verge of death and it was _sheer luck_ that they were still breathing.

“Bilbo?”

Bilbo looked up sharply, and blinked up at Thorin and Balin. “Yes, yes of course, very interesting,” He hoped he didn't sound like he was actually gasping for breath.

Balin's smile turned wry, “Yes well, I can see that dwarvish history is of utmost interest to the gentle shire-folk.”

Bilbo's daily reminder that Balin could be simply blunt, but just as easily could be gently winding Bilbo up, came with comfortable familiarity.

“Come away,” Thorin tipped his head towards the next in the long line of statues. They stretched away, far, far away out of the feeble little light of their eight torches.

The thought of the open space around him, and the crushing weight of the stone around that, was waiting for him as he looked around.

“Yes,” Bilbo said, “Yes of course I'm...”

The rest of the company was already moving, every dwarf present was clearly in awe of their surroundings. Statue after statue of ancient dwarvish heroes. It was rather grand, Bilbo could admit, the hall was wider than a couple of ox carts, with little alcoves and huge statues alternating along the walls. The high domed roof glittered with veins of something white and shining that caught the torchlight in glints and flashes. The hall began at the stairwell from the Throne Gallery, and went on, Bilbo was certain, forever.

“Bilbo?” Thorin paused as he turned to follow Balin and the others. “Are you tired?”

Only terrified. Bilbo thought flatly. “Alright, quite alright, just need a moment,” He said, smiling and brushing his cold, damp hair from his forehead. “Just a moment.”

He fell into step with Thorin, following the other dwarfs as they skipped several statues and Balin explained briefly who each was. Walking together at the tail of the party was marginally easier for Bilbo, unable to see through the dwarves to the expanse of darkness before them.

He could hear his own footsteps flagging, and was surprised when Thorin slowed to keep pace with him.

“I'm alright,” Bilbo said, fighting to keep his voice even. “I'm...”

Thorin was watching him, and noticing that familiar, unblinking blue gaze was making it far more difficult to lie.

“Just need a moment,” Bilbo finished lamely, fighting for breath.

To his surprise, Thorin nodded and barely touched his elbow, guiding him to one of the small alcoves scooped out of the wall between two statues of identical dwarfish maids. “Rest here,” Thorin said, not unkindly.

Bilbo dropped onto the seat carved into the curved wall and rubbed both his hands through his hair.

“Was the trip here tiring?” Thorin asked after a moment.

“The dragon certainly took a good deal out of me. And the walk through the forest.” Bilbo kept his head down, focused on his breathing, kept his hands on the back of his neck. “The mountains were fairly straightforward before the stone giants started their punch up and our capture by the goblins. Surviving the elvish hospitality was a treat, and the sedate trip down river. The war was absolutely the stuff of legend.” Bilbo reflected on the other aspects of the trip, then on Thorin's question, coughed, sat up abruptly and added, “The trip down the stairs to this hall wasn't to tiring, no.”

Thorin was watching him with a little suppressed smile, but looked up and away when Bilbo met his gaze. Together they watched Fili and Kili climbing a statue of Gwald (Ghoal? Gwoagh? Bilbo couldn't remember.) The Jeweller, and stalwartly ignoring Dwalin and Balin.

“Glad to hear that after the journey here, there's nothing left to tax you.”

“I'm sure we'll find something,” Bilbo muttered, and left off watching Fili in order to try and subtly wipe the sweat off his face on the inside of his shirt.

The cave in happened so suddenly Bilbo still had his face inside the neck of his shirt. The world snapped off, the light cruelly snuffed out with a brief, otherworldly shriek and then a horrific sensation of movement and force and momentum while remaining perfectly still. The seat under him, the wall on his back, the stone under his bare feet jerked away from him. For a moment he was suspended, weightless in the darkness, alone and breathless before he died.

He dropped back down onto the seat with a grunt, and fought to draw a breath, wrenching his face out of his shirt and looking up into... Nothing, blackness. He stared. Stuffy, thick, dusty, heavy darkness that was suffocating him. He couldn't draw breath. He was already dying. He was choking on dust and couldn't draw breath and couldn't see and the mountain had actually come down on him. He was going to die here.

“Bilbo?”

Thoin's voice. Thorin was dead here too.

“Bilbo!”

Sharper now, even in death the king couldn't bare to be ignored.

Bilbo managed a weak cough. His hands were around his throat he realized, clawing at his neck, his face, rubbing his eyes and then raking around his throat again. He was on his feet, shaking, taking trembling little steps around into nothing; desperate to run and nowhere to go.

Thorin's hands, rough and thick-skinned and warm, closed on his, unnerving accuracy in the darkness, and Bilbo gasped and coughed and fought for breath at the touch of something alive.

“Are you alright?” Thorin sounded a little hesitant.

He sounded a little hesitant about addressing _Bilbo_ , but apparently not about their situation which was _deadly_ and he apparently _didn't notice_. A few moments passed during which Bilbo choked and shuddered and tried to weakly shake his hands out of Thorins. His eyes were wide open in the darkness, seeking any light and failing utterly.

“You're alright,” Thorin whispered, lied, absolutely lied, Bilbo was not alright, Bilbo couldn't breath nothing was alright, he was dying.

“Bilbo,” Thorin's hands shook him a little, and Bilbo blindly pushed himself forward, butting his head into the solid, reassuring weight of Thorin’s chest. “Bilbo,” Thorin said again, even softer now, “You're alright.”

“Can't breath,” Bilbo gasped after a silent struggle. Thorin still held his hands, keeping them away from his face, his neck. Thorin was shaking, Bilbo realized.

“You can breath, there's air here to breath, shhh,” Thorin gently pulled Bilbo's hands, drawing them down and back gently, until Bilbo felt the scratch of the fur coat. He dug his fingers tightly into the course, warm fur. “Hold on, we're alright.” Thorin's hands settled gently on the curves of Bilbo's shoulders. Thorin wasn't shaking, Bilbo was. That made more sense.

“There’s no air, no light,” Bilbo heard himself speaking, “There's so much stone, we're under so much stone,” Bilbo pressed his face more firmly into Thorin's chest. He was fairly certain as long as he couldn't see the darkness pressing in on him, it couldn't hurt him. “Thorin,” His voice was sounded strained, shaking as he fisted both hands into the fur of Thorin's coat.

“We're alright, we're alive, we're inside a mountain,” Thorin said, hideously reasonable, stroking his hands over Bilbo's trembling back, “There are times it comes down on us.” After a beat he sounded a little hesitant as he ventured, “Don't Hobbit's live underground?”

“Not this far,” Bilbo gasped, “We live in little hills. Not like this, not under all this stone, not miles below the sunshine, not down here in the dark...” Bilbo groaned and trailed off. Then, past speaking, stood rigidly in the circle of Thorin's arms and kept his face away from the darkness around them.

“The others know where we are, they can reach us, we're only a few feet away from them,” Thorin settled one hand on Bilbo's head, gently rubbing his thumb back and forth through the dusty curls.

“How can you bare it?” Bilbo gasped. He still couldn't breath, but he liked that he could feel Thoin breathing, slow and easy and totally unperturbed by the entire world ending around them.

“We're a mining people,” Thorin shrugged slightly, and Bilbo's hands tightened instinctively on his coat. “Cave-ins are part of this world we carve out for ourselves. We endure, as we always have.”

“Have you been buried before?” The idea that Thorin had already survived something like this was presently more incredible than the knowledge of the battles he'd survived.

“Yes.”

Bilbo realized he'd matched his breathing- when had he been able to breath again?- to Thorins. “Tell me?” Bilbo struggled to see a way anyone could survive this.

“I was exploring an old tunnel with Frerin, my brother,” Thorin said slowly, his hands were a warm, solid weight on Bilbo's head and back, anchoring him. “We were looking for a cache of tools a team of miners had left behind years ago. Foolish of us,” Thorin said softly, “The cave roof came down after we had gone in, we didn't realize, we were so far down. We didn't know we were trapped until we began making our way back and found the entrance blocked.”

Bilbo shuddered. He didn't bare to ask how they'd survived.

“We had found the tools the miners had left and tunnelled our way out,” Thorin said, as matter of factually as Bilbo had ever heard him, “But our mother didn't see our brilliance in this, she was ready to bash our heads in herself.”

The thought of Thorin, young and dusty standing triumphant before his seething mother made Bilbo almost bark with laughter. Thorin seemed to relax slightly, and stroked his hand down Bilbo's back again.

“When I was young Balin took me into the deep caves, the old ones, the first ones.” Thorin's chin touched the top of Bilbo's head, nuzzling gently into the curly hair and gently pulling Bilbo closer. “I was scared then, even with Balin to lead me. The old tunnels aren't like these ones, they were primal, made as we came out of the earth, from Aule's forge. That's what Balin told me.”

“How could you bare it?” Bilbo shuddered, curling into Thorin, unable to tear his face away at the risk of seeing that awful blackness again. His legs were shaking badly, he realized, and dust was settling on his neck like snow.

“Balin spoke to me, told me the tales of my forebears, of the caves and the gold it held once, of the time before this one.” Thorin lent back slightly, taking Bilbo with him and keeping him close. “He sang to me,” Thorin added, almost as an afterthought.

Bilbo thought of that fateful night in his little hobbit hole, when the voices of the dwarves had echoed through his hobbit hole, singing of the dragon that had taken their home from them. The thought of Thorin, a tiny dwarf clinging to Balin's hand in the darkness. The older dwarf singing and walking and keeping tiny Thorin safe, the thought made Bilbo's chest tight.

“Shall I sing to you?” Thorin asked quietly after a moment.

Bilbo let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and nodded his head against Thorin's chest.

Carefully, Thorin pulled Bilbo in a little more, his arms going around him as he started to sing. It was slow and soft and sung so low Bilbo could feel it, echoing in his chest where it pressed against Thorin's. The song wasn't in Common, and Bilbo couldn’t understand a word, but it made him feel a little warmer, braver. Slowly, he felt his heart stop it's panicked fluttering, his breath finding it's way a little more easily in and out of him. His fists, clinging to the edges of Thorin's coat, eased slightly. As long as he didn't look up, he and Thorin could have been anywhere.

Suddenly Bilbo realized that he was actually standing in Thorin's arms, burying his face in Thorin's chest and letting the _King Under the Mountain_ stroke his back and sing to him.

The terror was still there, the sense of _weight dark down close tight too close too tight too dark under a mountain going to die under these rocks_ was still roaring in his ears, but it had softened enough for Bilbo to appreciate where he was.

And he could appreciating it.

Bilbo had realized a year ago that all the times he reaffirmed his bachelorhood, he'd been waiting for an ornery dwarf on a quest for his homeland. It was almost funny. There was a strong tradition of bachelors in the Shire. He'd been looking forward to becoming fat and fussy and increasingly pleased with his garden and collections of books and maps and secondhand stories. He'd been happy to look forward to that life. Bilbo had not been prepared to meet Thorin Oakinshiled and his Company. Nor travel for weeks beside him.

Bilbo had actually been annoyed at his admiration and attraction for Thorin. Then a quiet, dawning sense of dread that followed. He realized, as his luck would have it, having found someone to love, he would live, and die, with it being unrequited. Thorin was a warrior who didn't invite closeness or comfort or intimacy. Thorin was a King. And Bilbo knew that his hopeless little crush would never see the light of day.

That Bilbo now had the opportunity to shamelessly and blamelessly press his face into Thorin's chest, and at a time where there would be no suspicion roused, was beyond even Bilbo's imagination. He knew that if Thorin, or any of the others had any suspicions of Bilbo's admiration, Bilbo would probably have to leave immediately. There was no hope for this starving little fantasy of romance, and it would be easier to leave than be banished- again. The thought of that made Bilbo shake his head slightly, rubbing his forehead against the breast of Thorin's armor.

In reply, Thorin slowly threaded his fingers into Bilbo's hair, gently stroking the curls out, over and over. His song had changed at some point, a soft Westeros song of high mountains and tall forests and the smoke of a chimney rising against the twilight sky. Bilbo could feel it in his chest. Dwarves seemed to sing everything several registers lower than a hobbit could ever go. It was surprising actually, how easy it was to stand here, his weight leaning against Thorin, eyes shut while Thorin sang him lullabies.

“Thank you,” Bilbo mumbled as Thorin's song ended. He could breath again, felt only slightly shaky, could ignore for seconds at a time the weight of the stone above them.

“You're alright,” Thorin said softly. His hands were still stroking through Bilbo's hair and over his back. “We're alright.”

“Can you see?” Bilbo didn't want to open his eyes and find the darkness pressing in on him again.

“A little, yes.” Thorin shrugged slightly, careful to keep his arms fast around Bilbo. “Dwarves see in darkness better than most races.”

“Does that mean you see colour less than other folk?” Bilbo found that talking was helpful, thinking about how dwarves saw the world was helpful. Not letting the situation impress itself back onto Bilbo was extremely helpful. That an he had been wondering why the dwarves were always dressed in such neutral shades, so unlike a Hobbit. He'd assumed it was for ease of being in the outdoors, unseen.

“Possibly,” Thorin said slowly, then gave a soft little snort of laughter. “When we're out on top of the mountain again, you can tell me what a sunset looks like for you.”

“We can watch it together,” Bilbo made the most of his remaining petrification to channel the nervous tension of that request into general fear of being buried alive.

“Of course,” Thorin was smiling, Bilbo could hear it in his voice. “Are you somewhat recovered?”

Bilbo tried to phrase a sentence that would communicate both his return to a functioning level of panic as well as stress his desire to stay exactly where he was. In the second it took him to open his mouth, the world around him wrenched itself away.

Again, the sense of falling, motion, weight and mass and momentum and being very small and very soft inside something very large, very hard, and very uncaring.

He screamed, and Thorin, the only thing that existed in that space that was safe, tightened his arms around Bilbo and pulled them both down, covering Bilbo's body with his own.

The world slammed abruptly back to stillness, Bilbo crashed to the floor with Thorin crouching over him, and dust and the sound of trickling sand filled the air.

"Bilbo?” Thorin shook Bilbo slightly, then, “Bilbo!” More sharply.

Bilbo could hardly hear him for the flat white terror in his head. He was curled in a ball on the sandy floor, fiercely clinging to Thorin with his eyes and mouth tight shut again.

“You're alright, please, Bilbo, breath, you're alright little one.” Thorin's hand, cupping over Bilbo's head, ruffled his hair slightly, stroking down. “Breath, we're alright. It was an aftershock, they happen sometimes, we're alright.”

“Thorin,” Bilbo managed to force the words out through his teeth, “I need to get out of here I have to get out please let me out let me out I can't be in here any more please I can't...”

“The others are coming for us,” Thorin, crouched over Bilbo, lent back, then seemed to pause in astonishment when he brought Bilbo up with him. After a moment when Bilbo flatly refused to uncurl himself, but clung determinedly to Thorin's chest, Thorin gathered Bilbo up in his arms and sat back against the wall with Bilbo curled on his lap. “We won't be here for long. We're getting out, you can tell me about some follies from your no doubt misguided youth.” Thorin's hand went to Bilbo's hair again, running dust out of it as he stroked it back. “Sing me songs you knew as a young Hobbit.”

“How can you bare this?” Bilbo groaned. He would keep asking that until Thorin gave up the real secret. He was so tense he couldn't shake, so full of terror he wasn’t sure there was room for him inside himself.

“We endure,” Thorin repeated softly into Bilbo’s hair. “As will you.”

Bilbo couldn’t speak any more, but Thorin didn’t try and coax him to try, but started to sing again, low and slow and soothing. He was breathing steady and slow, and Bilbo managed to to match a few of his breaths, then a few more as Thorin sang on and the sound of his voice buzzed gently inside Bilbo’s chest.

“Unbelievable,” Bilbo muttered after a decent interval. Thorin nuzzled his chin against Bilbo’s temple, questioning without breaking the rhythm of his song. “I finally find an adventure worth having, finally find this incredible legendary mountain and shake the damn dragon out only to find I’m terrified of it.”

Thorin snorted, losing his song completely as his chest shook with suppressed laughter. “I apologize,” he managed, clearly chagrined at his finding anything in this situation funny. He seemed to quiet all at once then asked, “Do you really find it so terrible?”

There was a hesitance in that question, Bilbo noticed it even with his face buried away from the darkness around them. “No,” He said, struggling to make his complicated eddy of constant fear and wonder and longing clear. His first impressions of Erebor were of dazzling wealth and near death experiences stacked one after another. “Not usually. The further down we go,” Bilbo shuddered, “The more terrifying this place is.”

“You don’t have to stay here, I hope you know that you never did,” Thorin’s hands were unmoving on Bilbo’s back and in his hair. “You could have stayed safely in Dale with Bard, or even gone home with the elves,” A sour little twist on the word. “Or with Gandalf back to your Shire.” He was speaking slowly now, sounding almost grim. Was he angry that Bilbo didn’t take to Erebor as naturally as the dwarves had?

“No,” Bilbo replied quickly, unthinkingly, “I wanted to stay with you.” Thorin took a breath under Bilbo and he hastily went on, trying to cover his impertinence. “That is, I feel more than a little responsible for Erebor after all, didn’t want to leave while the rebuild has only started.” He swallowed and felt slightly weak and slightly light headed at his blundering chatter. “Felt I should see this through.”

Thorin didn’t speak long enough for Bilbo to start dreading what he could be thinking of, if he knew what Bilbo had been so carefully concealing. There were few secrets that Bilbo wanted to keep more carefully, totally unspoken than how badly he wanted to stay anywhere Thorin was. More of a secret now than ever, Bilbo thought sourly. There were few things more ridiculous than the King under the Mountain acknowledging the affection of a creature a century and a half younger than he, outside his race, totally unlike him, that was terrified of being under a mountain. Even less a creature who had betrayed him. Bilbo huffed a little sigh. It was an old hurt, Bilbo being unsuitable for love.

“What songs did you sing in the Shire, as a young thing,” Thorin asked, apparently willing to overlook the last several minutes of terrible, blundering chatter for Bilbo’s sake.

Bilbo let out a breath at the generosity of that little kindness and rubbed his face against Thorin’s chest, trying to apologize for his idiocy. It occurred to him, now that the entirely new panic that had overwhelmed him was receding, he was sitting in Thorin’s lap in the dark, even closer now than he had been before. He swallowed and let the rare and succulent novelty of the situation quash the guilt in abusing Thorin’s amazing and wholly wonderful kindness. “Hobbits like songs for drinking, songs for working in our farms or gardens. Songs to sing the cows to sleep,” He went on, and Thorin started slightly under him. “What?”

“Hobbits keep cows?” Thorin sounded taken aback.

“Some of us do, certainly, but they need so much room that we don't often bother. Goats are more manageable, and we can ride a goat in a pinch. Or hinds, we sometimes keeps deer.”

“But cows?” Thorin still sounded leery.

"Of course,” Bilbo shrugged, the motion of his shoulders under Thorin’s hand seemed to jog Thorin out of whatever he was thinking. He rubbed Bilbo’s back absently.

“They’re rather… Big, aren’t they? Even for men,” Thorin said slowly.

A bubble of ridiculous, nearly hysterical little mirth went through Bilbo at the thought _Thorin’s scared of cows_. “They’re very gentle,” He assured Thorin, trying not to smile.

“Hmm,” Thorin sounded more than dubious.

“And they have these big, soft noses,” Bilbo went on. “And come to stand around you when you sing to them.”

“Truly a noble oral tradition,” Thorin muttered, still suspicious.

Bilbo smiled against Thorin’s chest, “And songs for sunny days in an orchard, songs for getting a keg out of the cellar, songs for funerals and weddings and all those other times songs are called upon.” Talking about the songs, even just mentioning them, was enough to take Bilbo out of the darkness and put in him in sweet Oldfur’s apple orchard in the bright spring time. Or the several days-long party following the wedding of the Brandybuck’s youngest son and that sweet Betha Horner. Or the autumn dance under a yellow moon with the harvest finally behind them. He’d imagined those and so many other happy times in the months since he’d left the Shire. Now when saw them in his mind’s eye, Thorin was beside him. It made him ache to realize how farfetched that was.

“Could you sing me some?” Thorin asked after a moment, “Would you?”

Bilbo abruptly forgot every song he’d ever learned. Then one came to mind, an old one from the time he was a tween, the one his mother used to sing while she and his father sat together in the garden. Bilbo hesitated, but he had deliberately left out the largest and best body of work in a Hobbit’s lexicon of songs. Courting ballads. They were long and soft and lovely, or brisk and full or laughter, or made to be sung while walking together, two parts or one, or more, they were innumerable and Bilbo had never learned many, but he’d learned some good ones.

“Yes,” Bilbo said slowly, hesitating, this was too bold of him by far. But Thorin would never know what the song was for, and it was so much better than sitting in the darkness allowing Thorin to shoulder all the responsibility of keeping him calm. It was tempting too, to sing a proper courting song, even if it wouldn’t really be heard, it would be Bilbo’s only chance to really court Thorin. Even under false pretences. Even just for a moment.

He began haltingly, fumbling through the first few lines in his fear that something in the sweet old words would give his little subterfuge away. But it was a song about sweet green fields and the sunset through blooming gardens and warmth and togetherness and the tenderness of a breeze from the south. He picked up the old words he hadn’t sung for so long and it was amazing he even remembered. It kept coming back to him, one word after another, one line upon the next, sung into Thorin’s chest. Bilbo’s secret coming out in the soft tune and rounded syllables his mother had sung together with his father.

Thorin sighed under him, his hands moving slowly and gently over Bilbo’s back, his chin soft on Bilbo’s temple. Somehow, Bilbo realized his breathing matched Thorin’s, even as he sang.

It was a long song, but it felt good to sing it out, settling into Thorin and left Bilbo oddly exhilarated and left his heart beating too fast. He had never sung a courting song to anyone he'd wanted so badly to court before. The song ended and Bilbo could almost feel the Shire's evening sunlight on the back of his neck.

“Are all Hobbit songs so lovely?” Thorin murmured into Bilbo’s ear.

Bilbo swallowed, his face felt hot in the shelter of Thorin’s chest. “Some, most maybe,” then after a moment of reflection, “Not many of the drinking songs.” It was dawning on him that he might have gotten away with singing a courting song to Thorin. The thought made him feel slightly giddy.

Thorin nodded, his beard ruffling through Bilbo’s hair. His arms were tighter around Bilbo than they had been. “Do you miss it?”

“The shire?” Bilbo thought about that. Of course he did. He missed his garden and his books and maps and the weekly evening at the pub with his fellows. He missed the safety and ease and plentiful food. He missed the ale and the pipeweed and the small emergencies around gardens trampled by young hobbits and wayward goats and the occasional careless man. He missed all that, surely. “It’ll always be a home to me,” He said, feeling his way into the words as he spoke them. He hadn’t considered any of this before. “But I’m not suffering under the burden of homesickness. I’m happy here.” He was too, it was surprising to realize. Current situation notwithstanding.

Thorin seemed to let out a breath, “What is the life of a hobbit like?” He sounded genuinely curious. Bilbo wondered how long the question had gone unanswered for him.

It took a few breaths, Bilbo and Thorin breathing together, before he began to speak, “Children are taught by the elders, their mothers or fathers or older siblings or each other, how to read, write, arithmetic and anything else they like to be taught. Trades tend to run in families, and children have an easier share of work than the older Hobbits, they're encouraged to run and play and explore whatever takes their fancy,” Bilbo trailed off, thinking of his own youth. He’d been wild, running behind his elder Took cousins who always waited for him to catch up.

“What took yours?” Thoin asked softly, his fingers were in Bilbo’s hair again, his jaw along Bilbo’s cheek.

Bilbo could hear a faint grating beyond the safe space inside Thorin’s arms. He hoped it wasn’t another aftershock.

The idea drove him back to the Shire, back to speech. “Elves,” he said stupidly.

Thorin grunted.

Bilbo winced. “And fireflys, little rivers I could build rafts on, trees I could climb, throwing stones at anything I thought I could hit. I think I informed you of my conker accomplishments. But I wanted to fight the elves, make them take me with them. Impress them. They used to pass through the shire sometimes. I wanted them to take me on an adventure.”

“Instead you got dwarves,” Thorin said, sounding strangely flat.

“Better than elves it turns out,” Bilbo replied, unthinkingly honest.

And again, Thorin seemed to breath out as he spoke.

“I took after my mother's side,” Bilbo said shyly, wrapped up in his youth, back in the little streams and quiet glades full of fireflies in the dusk. He remembered that Thorin had no idea what being a Took meant in the Shire and went on, “My mother was proud of me, coming home muddy and tired and bright eyed from fighting imaginary foes and wading through rivers to catch crawfish and frogs, kidnapping goats to ride up the sides of the hills.”

“You rode goats?” Thoin sounded like he was holding back laughter. “You did?”

Bilbo almost confessed then an there to being an undefeated goat riding champion but didn’t at the last moment. There were some things simply too Tookish to be mentioned.

“I said we could ride them in a pinch,” Bilbo conceited then went on, “My father was at a loss. His heir to the Baggin’s name, a muddy rascal with sticks in his hair, covered in bruises and carrying a tree branch for a sword.” His poor father. He’d been an amazing good sport about Bilbo’s youth. He and his mother had had Bilbo late in life, they’d been almost grandparents to him. “I know all this seems unlikely,” Bilbo remembered, suddenly, the hobbit he’d become when Bag End was his alone. “Considering who you met when you arrived in the Shire.”

Thorin smiled, Bilbo could feel it against his cheek, “I was so wrong about you. You seemed too fragile for such a hard quest, much too fragile.”

“Well you weren’t all wrong,” Bilbo muttered. He shuddered, his panic was receding far enough to feel the weight of the crushing embarrassment alongside the giddy rush of new pleasure and associated guilt brought by sitting on Thorin’s lap. This would never happen again and he was relishing it while he could.

“All wrong,” Thoin said softly.

Bilbo wordlessly shook his head into Thorin’s chest again, his cheek rubbing along Thorin’s beard. He wondered if Thorin could feel him blushing. The grating sound was louder now, harder to ignore. He hoped that if the ceiling fell in, it would happen quickly, painlessly between one word and the next. Dying quickly with Thorin holding him was probably the best he could hope for.

“Bilbo,” Thorin’s voice was soft, warm in Bilbo’s ear, and Bilbo huffed a little sigh, out of time with Thorin. His heart was beating fast again, but he wasn’t thinking of the stone and weight and darkness around him this time. “Can you see now?”

Bilbo shivered, pulling his face reluctantly away from Thorin’s chest and blinking into the darkness. It wasn’t entirely dark, amazingly, Bilbo could see just enough to see the walls around them, the edges of the fur on Thorin’s coat, the slight dust in the air. Bilbo gave a little sigh of relief. “Is this how you see?” Bilbo whispered, something about seeing in the darkness felt like cheating, felt like they ought to be whispering.

“In the dark, usually yes,” Thorin whispered back, playing along with Bilbo.

Bilbo blinked, he was wholly enjoying the solid heat of Thorin’s arms around him, the hand in his hair. He was committed to ignoring the guilt of taking advantage of the situation, the guilt and embarrassment and sadness. He would have never felt Thorin’s arms around him if he hadn’t been a coward scared of the dark. He would never have felt so safe if Thorin wasn’t so kind, so trusting. Even of a grasping, cunning little Hobbit that pressed his advantage. Bilbo really was unsuitable for Thorin in every way.

Suddenly Bilbo realized how close their faces were in the near dark. He could see the edge of Thorin’s jaw, his brow and the fall of his hair. They were really, very close. Bilbo’s breath hitched in his throat. Moving on some horribly brash, Tookish instinct, Bilbo's hand slowly moved, and gently cupped the edge of Thorin's jaw.

“Bilbo,” Thorin murmured.

It sounded like a question and Bilbo leaned in, stupidly, instinctively, his brash Tookish side dragging him towards Thorin, as, unbelievably, Thorin seemed to lean forward towards him. There was barely space between them, and the realization of what he was about to do swept through Bilbo, terror and want and aching, long suffering silence all flashing in him at once. He so desperately wanted this moment and he'd steal it if he could, whatever Thorin would think of him after. Bilbo was a thief and he’d proven that before. He’d take this, just this.

There was a crack, the rock shuddered briefly around them, and then light flooded them. Bilbo could see it even with his eyes closed. Cool air hit his back, making the heat of Thorin’s arms and hand starkly apparent and Bilbo jerked back.

He’d almost ruined everything, he’d almost _kissed_ …

The way was clear behind him, cool air and the voices of anxious, triumphant dwarves and open space. Bilbo jerked away, breaking the circle of Thorin’s arms and darting out through the cluster of Dwarves with their picks and bars and past a heap of stone - _sweet mercy had they been under that much?!_ \- and out, out into the hall of statues and away.

The way ahead of him was perfectly clear, up the stairs, landing, turn left, up more stairs, left again, middle fork, up the ramp to the lower gallery... The entire way back to his chambers was clear in his head. And past that. All the way out into the open air, all the way up to where he could see the sky.

Bilbo didn’t stop running until he skidded around the corner in the upper gallery, lost his feet momentarily and slapped into the pillar before the bridge. He stood panting for a moment, looking out at the span of stone over the long fall into the mine below him. He trotted out onto the narrow ledge after a moment, picking up speed as though he could outrun what he’d just…

He broke into a run as he reached the other side of the bridge, rushing past the workers from Dale, barely acknowledging Gandalf as the wizard passed him. He pattered on until he reached his own gift of a room -quiet and small, cozy with furs and blankets the others had brought him- Then ran on. He climbed more stairs, jogging around landings and over bridges. He was incredibly grateful for the flush on his face being due to the running, nothing else. He hoped that the wetness on his face was only sweat.

Finally, he crested another narrow stairwell and into one of the narrow upper hallways, and ricochet along until he burst through the door he’d come through months ago. The hidden door behind the mountain Thorin had unlocked. Gasping, clutching a stitch in his side, shaking sweat and dust out of his hair, Bilbo slowed, then stopped, and sank down to sit on the stones of the ledge.

He wondered if there was a death penalty in Erebor yet. Or if Thorin would simply banish him. Again. His gut twisted, suddenly cold. Banishment.

It was sunny out, not even midday yet and the sun was warm. It felt like a miracle after all the stone and the darkness, and the heat prickled through the sweat under Bilbo’s shirt. He had nearly kissed… Stolen a kiss... It wasn’t enough that he’d sung a courting song, nor that he’d spent long minutes flagrantly taking advantage of Thorin’s generosity and kindness by staying wrapped in his arms as though he’d never recovered his wits from terror. He’d been about to ruin everything, throw Thorin’s gift of trust in him away, take advantage of the situation and Thorin’s kindness and… Bilbo scuffed both hands through his hair, crouching down on the balls of his feet.

Thorin had to be furious with him. Thorin was going to cast him out again. Banish him, brand him... What? A traitor? Again? Or would Bilbo be branded something worse this time. He'd ruined his chance to be close to Thorin. The first and only time Thorin had even touched him since they'd won Erebor and Thorin had allowed Bilbo to return. The first time they'd talked since... And Bilbo had lied and cheated and cunningly played the pathetic coward to insinuate himself on the King.

In a moment of panic induced self preservation, Bilbo fumbled the ring out of his pocket and pulled it onto his finger. At least shrouded in invisibility, no one would be able to tell the king where he’d gone if the hangman came to find him.

He felt drunk. He felt shaky. He couldn’t believe there was so much colour in the word. He couldn’t believe there was so much _light_.

Maybe he could pass off what had almost, _almost almost only almost_ , happened as an accident. Light headed. Bilbo had been terrified. It was just an accident.

He should have gotten to his feet before. He could have, certainly _should have_ , been able to deal with the fear on his own. He shouldn’t have forced Thorin to care for him.

He was so absorbed in his guilt and misery, he very nearly walked directly into Balin.

Slapping both hands over his mouth Bilbo jerked back, eyes wide as Balin looked around, cocked his head as though listening, and stepped over to glance down the stairway down the mountain. then he glanced down at the dirt of the ledge and… Bilbo looked down too. His bare foot prints were plain in the sparse dirt between the tough mosses and lichens. He’d been pacing, crouching down, hopping. How long had he even been out here?

“Well deary me,” Balin heaved a sigh that seemed to deflate him somewhat. “He’s gone down the mountain.”

Bilbo blinked at him. but of course, Balin noticed the footprints hadn’t gone back inside.

Heaving another sigh, Balin turned went back through the secret door.

Bilbo realized suddenly that he could leave, now, and Balin would tell the others he'd run. He wouldn't have to deal with this, any of this. Bilbo could start his banishment early, without Thorin having to punish him. The others didn’t know what he’d done. They wouldn’t know what a cunning, desperate creature Bilbo really was. Thorin would be free of him.

It made perfect sense.

Balin turned to go back into the mountain, and Bilbo looked away down the mountainside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading! The next chapter with the smooches and resolution will be published on Dec. 12 if you'd care to stay with me. <3 I hope you enjoyed this, I wrote it some little time ago because the feelings I was drowning in after the third movie wouldn't go away. I have a few Hobbit stories from that time but I really liked this one, hope you do too.  
> Please forgive any inconsistencies with the canon I may have committed. I mean, besides the part where I flagrantly made everyone alive and well again because that I'm not sorry for. But anything else. Thank you for your patience.  
> I'm updating regularly on Mondays, last week and next week will both be chapters on different Overwatch fics I'm working on, if you're interested I hope you enjoy them. (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡  
> If you have any requests or would like to see something more, please let me know! You can ask me anything on my Tumblr at leoandlancer.tumblr.com/ask or in the comments here. <3 There's also a scheduled there for what I'm posting and when if you're interested.  
> This work was unbeta'd so any horribly embarrassing grammar or spelling mistakes are my own fault, and I apologize.


	2. Chapter 2

 

“Bilbo…” Thorin couldn’t help himself, the gap in the stones at the mouth of their little cave-in was widening. He didn’t have any more time. He felt Bilbo's hand on his jaw, soft fingers stroking into his beard and he was done with this hunger. Stupidly, he tightened his arms around Bilbo, leaned in, felt it, incredibly, vividly, when Bilbo leant in towards him and with this all the weeks of danger and hardship and quiet, secret, aching, confused, miserable _pining_ could go away so easily…

The stones behind Bilbo shifted suddenly, breaking free all at once and light blazed across them.

Bilbo jerked away from him-  _ no no no don’t go please don’t go how can I hold you if you go _ \-- and broke out of Thorin’s arms so abruptly it hurt. Then he was gone. Thorin let his arms fall to his sides. Lost it, missed the chance. The guilt crashed in on him then, it was  _ sick _ trying to ease his longing at a time like this . Bilbo was  _ terrified _ , panicked and shaking and so, so frightened he hadn’t hesitated to listen to Thorin, he'd even let Thorin touch him.

Thorin had lost count of the times Bilbo could have touched him, maybe would have touched him but hadn’t, since the war. Since Thorin had cast him out.

Tried to kill him. His mind supplied, twisting the knife, you tried to kill him. He hasn't touched you since you tried to kill him.

“ Uncle are you hurt?”

Kili was beside him, hands hovering over Thorin’s chest, just where Bilbo had rubbed his face.

“ No,” Thorin growled. There was no reason, he told himself firmly, no reason to feel this morose about being dug out of a cave in. There was no reason to be furious at what was an incredibly,  _ infuriatingly _ prompt rescue. “I’m alright.”

“ Bilbo just took off like a scalded cat, was he hurt?” Fili was leaning around his brother, blocking the low light from the dug out entrance. “We couldn’t believe it when the wall came down, there was a shelf of rock above the door, just after you and Bilbo went in, the whole lot came down over you!”

“ There was some damage to a few of the statues as well,” Balin’s dry observation cut through Fili’s chatter.

“ Master Dwalin and Dori got the long pry bar and the rest of us set to work clearing everything away. You weren’t even in there for long!” Both Fili and Kili were sweaty and dusty and looked incredibly pleased with themselves.

“ Well done the pair of you,” Thorin rose to his feet, the last scrap of warmth that Bilbo had left was gone. There was an odd pressure on his chest, he rubbed at the armour absently as he ducked out into the hall of statues. The place where Bilbo had hid his face.

He had no choice, of course you terrify him, snarled the little voice in his head. All it means is that being trapped in the dark of your precious mountain terrifies him more. Everything about you is a torment to him.

Thorin completely deserved Bilbo’s distrust, his caution and distance. Thorin had fought with himself to be more attentive to Bilbo since Erebor had been won, show the halfling more consideration. It hadn’t been easy, since he was loathed to try and help their burglar only to watch him shy away. He didn't want to be overbearing, or high handed, or make Bilbo feel as though he was under royal obligation to allow Thorin to be close to him. Thorin had tried to kill him, at the height of his madness Bilbo had looked like a thief and a traitor and Thorin had _wanted_ to kill him. All those weeks of grudging acceptance and then friendship and then terrible, shattering, overwhelming admiration and love had meant nothing in his madness.

Whatever it had meant to Bilbo was long gone.

Thorin spoke briefly to the other dwarves, he couldn’t remember what he’d said even as the words left his mouth, but they smiled and nodded and moved off looking purposeful as he climbed the stairs towards his hall.

Stupid of him, cruel even, to use Bilbo’s fear to keep him close. It was ugly, selfish, unspeakably desperate and disgusting behaviour. He hadn’t intended to. He knew Bilbo’s aversion to letting Thorin touch him. But the halfling had been in a blind panic, shaking on his feet, clawing at his face and neck and helplessly rubbing his eyes. Thorin had reached out before he could stop himself, needing to ease that pain, aching to reassure Bilbo he was safe, he would be safe, Thorin could protect him. Bilbo must have been stark terrified to let Thorin hold him.

He reached his own chambers without realizing he’d been travelling to them. Looking around, unsure why’d he’d come here, he dropped down in his chair at the head of the long receiving table. Then jerked back up again almost immediately, and realized he had nowhere to go.

The memory of Bilbo curled on his lap, laughing into his chest suddenly made him smart with the longing he’d been trying to bury. It was always foolish of him to love Bilbo, of course. Bilbo had no time for an old dwarf who dragged him out of his safe home into so much danger before trying to murder him before banishing him. Throughout their quest Thorin had been incredibly rude to Bilbo, condescending and inconsiderate. He hadn’t deserved Bilbo's loyalty when he'd jumped in to save Thorin from the pale orc, freed them from the elves, or found a way into Erebor and confronted Smaug. Thorin had repaid that trust and loyalty by cruelty on cruelty.

Sick, he raged quietly at himself, using his fear to slake your hunger to have him in your arms. Using his blindness to make sure you could watch him as closely as you’ve wanted to. Sick to make him feel like he had to do what you told him to or you’d leave him in the dark. Use his fear to make him talk about the shirefolk. Goat racing and cows and sunny days where tiny Hobbits would play. Make him sing to you. He was terrified and you just loved that you could hold him, you loved you could use that fear to your own ends.

Thorin stopped himself, and put his face carefully into his hands. Bilbo had, since their first meeting, brought so much more than Thorin could have ever suspected of him.

“ It seems,” Balin’s voice, and Thorin raised his head to find Balin standing in the wide arch to his receiving hall at the far end of the table, “We have lost our Bilbo.”

Thorin carefully dropped his hands to his sides, swallowing the sharp panic that jumped up his throat. “Where?”

“ Same way we came in,” Balin tipped his head back and to one side slightly. “The hidden door.”

Thorin thought of every single curse in every language he knew, and said instead, “He fled.”

“ It would appear so,” Balin studied Thorin politely.

There was a quiet understanding there that set the hair on Thoirin's neck up. The old dwarf was the most cunning creature Thorin had ever met, but there must be things, there  _ had _ to be things, he didn't already know. Thorin realized he was holding his breath.

“ Tell me, what frightened him so?” Balin went on mildly.

Me, Thorin thought. “The cave in,” He lied curtly.

“ Ah, gentle creature like Bilbo scared of the cave in.”

“ He's never been in one,” Thorin snapped, Balin was getting closer than he usually dared to calling Thorin a liar. “He couldn't stand it.”

Balin blinked at Thorin, then seemed to relax slightly. “I thought I felt you singing.”

Thorin nodded, there wasn't enough stone between him and the others to insulate the vibrations of his song. “You sang to me when I was scared.”

“ Aye, I remember. You were easy to sooth though, deep as we were. Was Bilbo?”

Thorin opened his mouth, and shut it again. “Easier than I would have expected,” He managed. He could never tell what Balin was really asking until he'd already answered it. “We talked once he'd calmed enough.”

“ Ah did you, you sat side by side in the dark talking of the deep caves?”

“ I held him,” Thorin corrected, this questioning was going on far too long, where was Bilbo? He could be in danger.

Balin nodded slowly, “Kind of you.”

Thorin stopped short before he said anything foolish. He probably already had. Balin had that effect on him.

“ Thorin,” Gandalf's voice snapped Thorin's attention up. 

The old wizard came around the corner and strode into the Thorin's hall with enough force to make Thorin take an unconscious step back. Balin moved aside at the same time, both dwarves scattering politely from the wizard. 

“Thorin,” Gandalf snarled again as he bore down on the King, “Why was Bilbo racing, in a terrible state, through the halls and over the bridges of Erebor after spending a morning’s exploration with you? What have you done to him now?”

It hadn't occurred to Thorin until he saw the steel in Gandalf's eyes, that the old wizard’s fury at Thorin's treatment of Bilbo had already been tried. 

“We were in a cave in.” Thorin managed staring up into Gandalf’s fury made him oddly short of breath. “Bilbo was terrified and when we were dug out he ran.” It was not untrue, but the sinking feeling in Thorin's gut didn't ease as Gandalf continued to glare at him.

“ Oh indeed,” Gandalf completely ignored Balin in favour of looming over Thorin. “The cave in made him so distressed?”

Had Bilbo been crying? Thorin thought, alarm and another swell of self hated made him flick his gaze from Gandalf to the open arch. Maybe Thorin could still find him, before it got dark.

“ Thorin,” Gandalf snapped, yanking Thorin's gaze back up to him, “What did you say to him? What did you do? And where is he now.”

“ Nothing,” Thorin replied shortly. A spark of his own anger cleared some of the shame and apprehension. “He was frightened of the cave in. I held him until he could speak and told him about the old caves, I asked him about the shire.” Thorin could just see Balin cock an eyebrow in surprise behind Gandalf. “We sat together until the other dug us out.”

“ Thorin sang to Bilbo to keep him calm,” Balin said easily, “I did the same for Thorin when he was small.”

Gandalf looked from Thorin to Balin and the two shared a look that Thorin couldn't interpret. The hair on his neck rose again, horror at the idea that they might know, might understand how  _ cruel _ Thorin had been rose in him like bile. His heart was beating too fast.

“ Did Bilbo,” Gandalf spoke to Thorin again, his voice calming abruptly, “Sing to you in turn?”

“ Yes,” Thorin felt stormy, Gandalf and Balin asking questions that weren't the questions they wanted answers to was hugely frustrating. Especially since Thorin apparently gave away too much. “A song about fields and gardens in summer sunsets.” He wasn't capturing the beauty of Bilbo's little song. It had been long and lovely and had warmed Thorin like sunshine. Made his heart flutter in his chest and his arms ache to hold Bilbo forever. He clenched his hands at his sides. “About southern breezes and walking side by side.”

Balin was nodding pleasantly at such a nice, hobbitish sounding song, and Gandalf... Gandalf looked totally blank.

“ Tell me,” Gandalf said slowly, “To this tune?” He whistled low and clear, the same tune Bilbo had sung to, and Thorin nodded shortly. “Ah.” Gandalf seemed to check himself. There was a ringing silence. 

“Well,” Gandalf coughed, “Hmm. I see. What a foolish Hobbit. Even for a Took.”

Thorin waited for more, but eventually had to go on, “Is the song so important?” Then he remembered, and tensed, “Bilbo's gone from the mountain, we have to find him.”

“ Well,” Balin said, suddenly brisk. “I'll rouse the others, see if there's any spare hands from Bard's workers who would be willing to help. He won't have gone far yet.”

“ He hasn’t left,” Gandalf cut Balin off short. He was staring down at Thorin again, his face blank of any expression.

“ He's well shot of us I'm afraid. He went up to the hidden door, same way we came in,” Balin explained. “Footsteps in the dirt on the empty clifftop, no footsteps inside. Must have gone down the mountain.”

“ Bilbo would not leave Erebor,” Gandalf said again, slowly.

“ You mean he may come back?” Thorin heard the words and could hardly believe how weak they sounded. He was typically unaccustomed to whining, or wishful thinking.

“ No,” Gandalf said, speaking slowly, as though thinking something else though, “I don't believe Bilbo has left the mountain. I don't believe he could leave. Not now.”

Gandalf broke his gaze from Thorin to look at Balin. Again, another loaded look that made Thorin uneasy. Then Balin barely nodded.

“ Tell me,” Gandalf suddenly glanced around the hall, empty but for the three of them. He looked down at Thorin with his head cocked to one side. “When he makes himself known again. Will you tell him he's welcome?”

The horrible nightmare of nearly throwing Bilbo off the gate, of banishing him forever flashed through Thorin's mind. Sometimes he dreamt of it, watching from outside himself, screaming and raging at his own stupid, cruel, mad self. How could he have been so savage? To Bilbo. How could Thorin not see the conflict and fear that he'd allowed to flourish? Or the bravery and cleverness of the hobbit he had somehow been permitted to befriend?

“Thorin?” Gandalf prompted. 

“ Of course.” There was something in his throat, and Thorin swallowed with difficulty. “Bilbo will always...” What. What could he possibly say to assure Gandalf that Thorin really, truly wished to be kind to Bilbo, wished he’d been someone Bilbo could have trusted. “He'll always be welcome in Erebor.” He said stiffly.

“ Is that all,” Gandalf asked steadily.

Thorin glared back at him. “I will always be glad to have Master Baggin's company.”

“ Just his company?” Balin asked quietly. Thorin's attention snapped from one to the other.

“ If you could choose where he would live,” Gandalf asked before Thorin could answer Balin. “Where would you ask him to stay?”

Thorin clenched his jaw. The back of his neck prickled with unease. Then as Gandalf opened his mouth Thorin cut across him as belligerently as possible. “Anywhere he would choose. But I would ask to stay by his side.” 

It was the boldest thing he had probably ever said, but Gandalf looked oddly satisfied.

“ Well we shall see if that resolves things,” Gandalf said sounding much more at ease, his attention already elsewhere. “Now I must see to finding our Bilbo. Surely he'll see sense. Blasted Baggins' bloody mindedness.” He muttered, turning away.

Thorin blinked after him, feeling totally bewildered by Gandalfs shift in demeanour. “Balin,” Thorin said quietly, “I have been foolish enough where Master Baggins is concerned. I won't allow you or Gandalf to make me feel it more keenly.”

Balin smiled at him, a little sadly. “Well then,” He nodded shortly, and reached to pat Thorin's arm. “Stay here,” Balin suggested, “Dust yourself off,” he added, looking at his hand and the cloud of dust he'd raised from Thorin's coat. “If Bilbo comes back you can tell him he's welcome.”

Thorin nodded, still bewildered and uneasy and fending off guilt and sick, sad, self revulsion. Balin left, leaving the wide arch to the main gallery empty. Without Balin, Thorin was back in company with the guilt and misery and the stupid crushing weight of his regrets. It seemed impossible to him, he realized, to actually be kind to Bilbo. Being kind, or gentle didn't come easily to Thorin as it did to Bilbo. It was stupid to be so attached to the brave little hobbit. Bilbo was courteous and amiable and sought comfort for himself and others. Thorin had been a kingdomless king, a wanderer and a warrior. He was rude, arrogant, too bold, sought out hard deeds and fought hard for what he had. He was completely unsuitable for him.

Stupid, cruel, thoughtless... His thoughts circled darkly over that one greedily stolen moment, holding Bilbo in his arms, their lips so close Thorin thought his heart could break. He kept reaching new depths to his cowardice it seemed. He should have told Bilbo he was grateful for his friendship when they were atop that mountain, seeing their first glimpse of Erebor from afar. He should have told Bilbo he loved him before they went inside the mountain. Should have asked for Bilbo’s hand when Bilbo showed him the acorn he'd kept.

That acorn.

Thorin's thoughts crashed into silence. That one perfect acorn cupped in Bilbo's hand. Bilbo had carried it through all their hardship from Beorns. Thorin had always wondered, there had been so many trees at Beorn's, did Bilbo intentionally choose one that would grow into Thorin's namesake?

He'd lost his chance to ask Bilbo now.

Thorin dropped back into his chair and carefully put his face into his hands.

 

~*~*~

 

Gandalf took his time walking through Erebor. Balin caught up to him, and together they met Dwalin and Ori, coming up to find out what was going on. Oin arrived while they were getting caught up to demand to see Bilbo and asking after his injuries. Gandalf stood quietly a little to one side, letting Balin explain what had happened, and calming Oin and then talking Fili and Kili down from mounting a rescue operation when they joined the conversation. Talking Fili and Kili down took longer than even Gandalf had expected, and even after they agreed, and left together to pass the word to the men of Dale about the minor cave in, he wasn't sure that they wouldn't take off in a bid to rescue their Bilbo.

Together, Balin and Gandalf walked on to meet Gloin and Nori, muttering together and making up a betting sheet. They stuffed it away as Gandalf cocked an eyebrow at it, and Nori, at least managed not to look too guilty as Balin explained the situation and warned them both to keep their heads down. Bofur and Bifur arrived, having spoken to Fili and Kili and full of anxious readiness to go get Bilbo from whatever new danger he'd managed to find. Gandalf talked them down, while Gloin quietly muttered to Bifur in Kuzdul and, some gold changed hands. Balin looked on wryly before patting Bofur on the back and nodding him off.

“ Well that should be all of them,” Balin sighed as Bofur reluctantly took Bifur's arm and together walked out towards the kitchens to tell Bombur the news.

Gandalf nodded, “We may want to tell Bard, just in case Fili and Kili are more determined to save Bilbo than they allowed us to believe.”

“ Aye,” Balin idly stroked his beard into place. “I'll see to them.”

Gandalf nodded and they took separate ways out of the hall, Gandalf walking slowly and waiting patiently until he found a quiet spot, above the main gallery on one of the many walkways. He finally sat alone on one of the beautifully carved benches, took out his pipe, carefully packed and lit it, and settled down to wait.

“ Thorin doesn't know I... I was using him,” Bilbo said quietly.

He had appeared, very quietly, without Gandalf noticing his arrival, sitting beside the old wizard.

“ Oh, indeed,” Gandalf said quietly. He could keep his composure in the face of almost anything, though Bilbo had, more than any other creature, broken it most frequently this last year. He filed the Hobbit's miraculous stealth away for another day of enquiry.

Bilbo sat quietly for another minute, turning something small and gold over and over in his hands. “I was terrified,” he said at last, his voice shook slightly, and his hands closed into fists. “In the cave. All that weight Gandalf. The darkness and the... Stupid luck that made me live where I could have died.”

“ You've faced death before,” Gandalf said quietly. He felt a growing, and horribly familiar pang of guilt.

Bilbo shook his head. “I know, but I think... I thought I'd feel safe here. Erebor is the end of our quest.” Again the little flash of gold turned in his hands. “But it's so dark and close, being trapped, I couldn't breath or think or move. Thorin held on to me, kept me from suffocating, from hurting myself.”

Gandalf noticed for the first time, the long red scratches in the side of Bilbo's neck. Noticing his gaze, Bilbo rubbed them, tugging his collar.

“ But I was alright after he talked to me, sang to me,” Bilbo said so quietly Gandalf had to focus on Bilbo's voice to pick out the words, “After that, I pretended. I just,” Bilbo shifted, guilty or perhaps nervous of his admission, “I just wanted him to hold me.”

Gandalf chewed thoughtfully on the tip of his pipe, drawing in a breath and letting it out.

With no condemnation apparently forthcoming, Bilbo pressed on. “I've lied to him about everything. Even when we met. You told him I was a burglar. I only got to come on this quest because of lies. Lied to him about the Arkenstone.” Bilbo's voice dropped out on the last syllable, and his hands clenched in his lap. “Betrayed him.” He whispered.

“ You prevented a war,” Gandalf said mildly. His heart still ached at the memory of fury and fear that had gripped him when he saw Bilbo on the wall above the Elves and men of Dale. Thorin standing over him, holding him out over the air, terror and madness and so much rage making him more like his grandfather than Gandalf had ever dreaded.

“ I betrayed him, lied to him,” Bilbo shook his head. “And now made him think I was terrified so he wouldn't let me go.” Bilbo paused, seeming to gather himself. “I didn't tell him I sang him a courting song.”

“ Yes,” Gandalf nodded calmly, “I thought I recognized your mother's song.”

“ Thank you for not telling him what it was. I thought it would be my only chance,” Bilbo admitted, “I thought he hated me. Tolerated me because the others cared. Even now, they think I'm away in the wilds, they're ready to leave their home again to come for me.” He twisted his hands in his lap.

“ You're very hard on yourself Bilbo,” Gandalf murmured to him. “What do you think Thorin feels now?”

“ You knew I was listening,” Bilbo said quietly.

“ I suspected,” Gandalf was ferociously curious to hear how Bilbo could manage such a feat, but restrained himself.

They sat in silence for a time, the sounds of construction from the men of Dale and the dwarves echoing up to them, the occasional sound of a voice or shout coming indistinctly up. They could hear Fili's voice raised for a moment, and Gandalf sighed, hoping the young dwarf was not, in fact, about to mount a rescue party for Bilbo.

“ I think I have to speak with Thorin,” Bilbo said softly.

“ That would be wise,” Gandalf took a breath. It was a relief when anyone as stubborn as Bilbo chose to be sensible.

“ He doesn't hate me, not like I thought, does he?” Bilbo asked, glancing up at Gandalf.

“ No,” Gandalf replied.

“ He might if he knows I lied to him,” Bilbo shook his head, eyes casting back down to the edge of the low banister and down towards the gallery. “I don't want... I never want to see him angry like that again. I can't.”

“ I don't think you will,” Gandalf said slowly. He was on unfamiliar ground now. He'd never had to try and convince two so unutterably stubborn, steadfast, sure of themselves creatures of taking a chance they'd already decided was a stupid one.

“ Will you come with me?” Bilbo asked, then pushed on as Gandalf opened his mouth, “I mean, if I need to leave.” His hands clenched in his lap. “If Thorin... Throws me out again, will you come back to the Shire with me?” His voice dropped.

“ Of course,” It was easy to promise that, Gandalf was almost positive that the odds of Bilbo leaving Erebor at this point were negligible.

Bilbo stood up slowly, reluctantly rolling his shoulders and tucking his hands into his pockets. He hesitated, then turned back to Gandalf, “Was that a betting sheet on the odds of Thorin and I...” His voice dropped off and his ears went pink, “Ah, courting?”

“ Yes it was. Several members of the company are quite invested in your romance you know.”

“ Do you have money on?” Bilbo asked him, eyeing him sideways.

“ Why would you suspect me of that?” Gandalf said, evasive as smoke. It was a beggar's bet anyway. The moment Thorin had woken up after the Battle of Five Armies and started roaring out demands to know if Bilbo still lived, it had been clear a bet would only go one way.

Bilbo hummed, twisting his mouth to one side, as though trying to phrase a question.

“ Don't you have someone else to talk to Bilbo,” Gandalf said quietly after a moment.

“ Are you sure you don't have money on Nori's bet?” Biblo shot Gandalf a nervous little smile.

Gandalf shut his eyes, “I've learned never to doubt you Bilbo.” When he opened his eyes, Bilbo was gone.

 

~*~*~

 

Bilbo was torn between taking a roundabout way to speak to Thorin, or going there directly. The roundabout way was appealing for many reasons, not least of which was the idea that if he got lost he'd never have to have a conversation with Thorin again. Going directly was appealing because the heart-stopping moment of Thorin stubbornly declaring he would be glad if Bilbo lived anywhere so long as he was beside him might have been only a passing inclination that Bilbo had to move quickly to benefit from. Perhaps Thorin had regretted his words and was at this moment drawing up a banishment order.

In the end, Bilbo fetched up, invisible and slightly breathless from running and nerves, before Thorin's hall very shortly after he'd left Gandalf. He peeked in at Thorin, expecting to see the king pacing, furious, ordering search parties or regretting his words to Gandalf and Balin. He wasn't expecting what he found; Thorin sitting, dusty and quiet and perfectly still, in his empty hall with his face in his hands.

Bilbo slipped the ring off his finger, and tucked it carefully into his pocket. Thorin didn't stir, didn't notice and Bilbo gathered up his frayed nerves and cleared his throat.

Thorin's head came up glaring furiously, then snapped to blank incomprehension.

“ I'm sorry,” Bilbo managed, the words tumbling out, long overdue for so many reasons. “I'm sorry for lying to you, I'm sorry for hiding the Arkenstone, I'm sorry for betraying you and I'm sorry for hurting you when I gave it away,” Biblo's voice faltered. He swallowed and took a shaking breath.

Thorin got carefully to his feet, his face still blank, going paler by the second.

Bilbo's hand twitched to the pocket where his ring, his escape, lay quiet and warm. “I'm sorry I didn't protect you from the elves and men that came because of my interference. I'm sorry I didn't tell you that...” he stumbled again, fighting to talk above the frantic beating of his caged, weak heart.

Across from him, Thorin's hands hung loose at his sides. The king stood very very still, staring at Bilbo without expression.

“ I'm sorry I didn't tell you that I was alright, in the cave,” Bilbo forced out. He was starting to babble. “I was scared at first, but when I could speak I could have stood on my own. I'm sorry I, ah well, I made you think I was petrified when really I was just letting you worry about me because I liked to have your arms around me and knew there wouldn't be another time for that. I'm sorry I didn't move to stand when you held me on your lap. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before that I,” Bilbo's mouth ran out of words and he gasped a breath and felt heat flush into his face, “I didn't tell you but I sang you a courting song.”

Thorin's mouth opened very slightly and Bilbo, fully aware that if he didn't maintain this babbling diatribe he'd never get it out gasped, nearly choked on his own breath, and went on.

“ And I'm sorry,” Bilbo was losing the thread of what he'd been trying to say, he hadn't told Thorin enough, he hadn't explained himself well enough, he wouldn't get another chance. “I never wanted to betray you, or hurt you. I only wanted to protect you, and Fili and Kili and all the others. All of Erebor. The dragon saw that I...”

Bilbo cowardly shrank away from what Smaug had seen in him. Bilbo's weakest, softest target. He slipped a hand into his pocket, his nerve was failing him.

“ Smaug knew that I… Cared for you, and told me the stone would turn you mad if I gave it to you. If I had trusted you, instead of him and given you the stone instead of stupidly trying to protect you from it, perhaps you wouldn't have been afflicted with gold fever. I'm so sorry Thorin...”

It was a nightmare he had often, Smaug had looked at him and  _ known _ where to hurt Bilbo.

Bilbo took another hasty, shaking breath and plunged on, “And you're a king now, of a kingdom you've spent your life fighting for, you have your heirs and your people to attend to now. I only ever wanted to help you return to Erebor, and I was grateful to call you, all of you, my friends, and earn your respect, and be of use. I'm so happy and proud to be here now.”

Thorin seemed to go paler yet.

“ I don't deserve,” Bilbo had a miniature heart attack as the entirety of things he didn't deserve from Thorin, all of them, went roaring through his head like a war charge. “Your friendship, or trust, I've lied to you so often, betrayed you,” His hand was in his pocket now, the ring warm in his hand. “But I have to tell you, while I'm confessing all of my faults, that I don't regret falling in love with you.” Bilbo felt the tension snap taut in his shaking his shoulders. He swallowed.

Down the table, Thorin put one hand out to a chair back, holding tight and swaying very slightly.

“ I'm,” Bilbo realized what he must look like, standing babbling and shaking before the king of the greatest dwarf kingdom on middle-earth. He shrank from the image. He backed a step. “Just a simple hobbit from the shire, and I'm cunning and selfish and grasping and take too many chances with people I love.” He choked mildly on the word, realizing that Thorin had started toward him.

“ Bilbo,” Thorin said, he was walking to Bilbo now, moving slowly, tensely, his face drawn in concentration as though he was ready to strike.

“ I said I was sorry,” Bilbo gasped, backing a step, “I'm sorry I'm so bold and conniving I never wanted to be so cruel to you or the others,” He could feel the hard edge of the ring on the tip of his finger. Thorin was almost in striking distance. “I'll go, please, I'll just go back to the Shire, I don't want to spoil anything else here, please Thorin, don't, you don't have to throw me out.”

“ Don't go,” Thorin said.

The words made Bilbo hesitate, and that was enough. Thorin reached Bilbo and his hand darted out, faster than Bilbo had expected and caught his arm, pulling his hand from his pocket. “Bilbo don't go.”

The words caught on something in Bilbo's miserable, panicking ruin of a head and stuck there. “What?”

“ You are entirely wrong about yourself, you're far more mistaken about yourself than even I was about you,” Thorin spoke quickly, his voice shaking slightly. The flat expression of concentration was gone, he looked almost stricken now. “Please stay.” His eyes flicked down to Bilbo's arm, caught fast in Thorin's hand and he let go abruptly as though he’d burned himself. 

For a moment, neither of them could speak.

“That is... I won't keep you.” He amended shortly. He seemed to gather himself, took a breath and spoke more slowly now, “But I would have you know that I was cruel and crazed and made the greatest and most terrible error of my life when I banished you. I tried to kill you,” Thorin sounded strained as he said that, “For protecting the people I was born to protect, who I had sworn to protect, and failed, where you succeeded for me. I cannot, ever, make amends for that. So if you want to go, please know you carry all my admiration and respect and friendship with you, if you'll have it.”

Bilbo's mouth fell open slightly. He had gone from fairly certain he was going to be executed despite everything, to panic, to flat amazement in several short moments. He couldn't look away from Thorin's blue eyes and Thorin, amazingly, didn't take his eyes off Bilbo either.

“ I'm sorry I used the cave in for an excuse to touch you, hold you, talk to you as I've wanted to. Since the battle I knew you would never trust me again. I knew you would never allow me to touch you, or allow me close to you, I tried to respect that even though I wanted so badly to apologize, but how do you apologize for the transgression I'd made?” Thorin shook his head, his hair falling over his shoulders. “I'm sorry that I thought your fear of the cave in eclipsed your fear of me. I used your fear to indulge my own longing for you.”

In reply, Bilbo abruptly went red.

“ Please,” Thorin said, taking a breath, “Please understand that I'm an old dwarf, and a fool, who has made so many unspeakable transgressions in the past weeks I'm ineffably grateful that I may even stay near you. If you must leave, please be free to go at your pleasure. But if you'll allow it I would go too, and leave Erebor to Dis and Balin and Fili and Kili. I would follow you to your home, and spend my life smithing simple tools for the shire-folk, so long as I could be with you. Bilbo I've never found a love until I met you.”

The words made Bilbo unsteady, and he reached out and grab Thorin's coat with both fist.

“ You,” Bilbo said weakly, “Love me?” He blinked at the centre of Thorin's chest, dazed.

“ Yes,” Thorin said simply, “I resolved not to trouble you with my feelings after we survived the Orc attack after the Goblins. I thought I'd already done enough to engender your low opinion. I hadn't realized how much further I could sink.”

“ You tried to kill me,” Bilbo tightened his grip in Thorin's coat as he sensed the dwarf gathering himself to step away. “You didn't suspect me because you loved me, and I betrayed you.” He swayed slightly, shutting his eyes. Dwarves only loved once, as far as Bilbo knew, and for a dwarf's beloved to betray him like Bilbo had... Bilbo groaned. He'd hurt Thorin even more than he'd dreaded. “I'm so sorry Thorin.”

“ You were right Bilbo, I was mad, stupid, blind and cruel and I nearly destroyed everything. You saved me,” Thorin said quietly, his hand tentatively touched Bilbo's. “You've been saving me since we met.”

“ I was stupid,” Bilbo said, he loosed his grip, and took Thorin’s hand and held on, “Stupid to believe Smaug.”

Thorin held Bilbo's hand carefully, relishing the simple contact. “Bilbo I was cruel and unjust and brutal, can you forgive me?” Thorin asked softly.

“ Yes,” Bilbo said, snapping his head up to look Thorin in the eyes, “Yes, of course,” Bilbo's free hand tugged at Thorin's coat, “I was stupid and overreaching and arrogant, can you forgive me?”

A flicker of a smile caught at the edge of Thorin's mouth, “Yes, yes of course.” He reached up slowly, touching the side of Bilbo's face with the tips of his fingers. “Will you let me stay by your side? Wherever you are?”

Bilbo's free hand found Thorin's, holding it against his cheek, “Yes, please.” Bilbo was starting to catch his breath again. “I'm terrified of caves and dark places and being underground but... May I stay in Erebor, with you, and be part of your life here?”

“ Please do,” Thorin let out a breath, his shoulders visibly relaxing. He was closer now, the two of them standing almost as close now as they had in their cave in. “I didn't ask you before. I ought to have asked you before, but now,” Thorin dipped his head slightly, touching his nose to Bilbo's and whispered, “May I kiss you?”

“ Please,” Bilbo breathed, and leaned up to catch Thorin's open mouth on his.

A soft noise went out of Thorin at the touch and he tipped his head, pulling Bilbo closer, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him in. Bilbo's arms went inside Thorin's coat, finding edges to his armour and holding on, pulling himself up into the kiss. Thorin's tongue was hot in his mouth, tentative until Bilbo licked along it, slid past it into Thorin's mouth.

Throin groaned into Bilbo's mouth, tugging Bilbo in, one arm wrapped around his waist and pressing their bodies together. His other hand slid into Bilbo's hair, stroking it back, tipping Bilbo's head back and deepening the kiss.

They broke apart gasping, clinging to one another, blinking and dazed as they looked into each other’s eyes.

“ I didn't think,” Biblo managed, “That would ever happen, after everything.”

Thorin nodded, he kept his arms stubbornly tight around Bilbo, and stroked his hair back again. “I'm glad it did.” He nuzzled Bilbo's hair, took a slow breath and let it out in a long sigh.

Relief and the dawn of something giddy and bright was warming Bilbo's chest. He reached up, stroking Thorin's beard with his fingertips. “Again?” He stepped up onto the toes of Thorin's boots, gaining more precious height and shyly kissing the corner of Thorin's mouth.

“ Again,” Thorin smiled, and tipped his head to kiss his burglar. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this dose of Hobbit/Dwarf pining. I love these two so much why are they so dumb. I have a few more Hobbit fics written from a little while back, and some WIPs that I am trying to pick up again. I'll be able to publish more in the New Year for Bagginshield, so let me know if you have any requests!! It will help me prioritize what WIPs to get back into!  
> Special thanks to my bff Daishar who read this when it was still a ratty little WIP <3 <3  
> Again, please forgive any sins against the canon I may have committed.   
> I update on Mondays, last week was an Overwatch Mission Fic/PWP with Reaper76. Next Monday I will be taking part in Overwatch's McHanzo week, so Monday will be the second drabble of seven, specifically, "Domestic Life" *rubs hands together*. I am looking forward to it.   
> This chapter is the end of my scheduled block of writing! I did eight weeks of steady updates! (و ˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و So there will be eight more updates coming starting Jan 2, 2017! Until then I have a few seasonal challenges coming, a Big Bang and a Secret Santa and the McHanzo week.   
> If you have any requests (seriously! I have many WIPs and would love to hear if you guys want something specific!) please hmu here in the comments, or on my Tumblr at leoandlancer.tumblr.com/ask I'd love to chat. <3  
> This work was unbeta'd so any horribly embarrassing grammar or spelling mistakes are my own fault, and I apologize.


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